This waiting room is painted of pain,
featuring faces with mouths down-turned,
impatience taking up these empty seats,
of family members already lost,
we feel like the least loved
in the mighty grasps of almighty fate's
crushing hands,
we feel like the last patients
to be visited during the night shifts,
by nurses and doctors,
the times of day when the most dust
is swept back to the humble soil
by an unseen, yet not-so-invisible bashing broom.
the old fan - barely hanging -
is closing in full circle,
a whole life lived.
dull curtains, some unhooked and five minutes to falling,
alongside the walls' stripes
designed with a print of doctors' usual words,
"I'm so sorry for your loss."  

If life truly begins at forty,
then hers ended at the starting line.
this would be a misplaced and mixed metaphor
if it weren't for olympics silently running in the background on the tv
reminds me of my mute cries, surprised eyes bulging, gaping mouths with no sound.

It ought to be a preventative measure; just a routine operation
a possibly cancerous lump.
I am flipping aimlessly through these magazine pages,
each catching a tear-drop for the dog-ears
(whoever reads them next will turn the pages over better).
Some puzzled maze pieces fall out of a box,
my baby cousin tries to gather the cardboard paper of a family tree picture,
but the least important twigs are lost, and the last friendly branch found missing.
The many portraits that make up the landscape go away from time to time.
It was just a little, smallish lump.
these news are hard to swallow.
my eyes are peeling onions.
my throat is winter-hands dry.
mum says she saw her the most alive
a few odd minutes before time clocked aunt out.
Grandma's sister blames herself for suggesting, advising, and in retrospect putting "pressure".
neutral colours ***** the Scrubs' floors,
hypothermia lurking in the corridors,
but the coke from the vending machine is medicine lukewarm.

It was a game of musical chairs,
But when the seven trumpets sounded,
the stools remained still, they stood facing eastward in hexagonal formation.
An angel ascended, the remnants were six shadows now.
With a plot twist, it's less players each round.
Who dies first wins, I've tossed too much soil on dust, my hands are *****.
We wash our hands clean with this paraffin.
Open-casket, the last sight took my breath away - the whitened clay still one,
but with the breath of life taken away, by the One, who giveth and taketh.

It's also winter our hearts,
dips of grief, dabs of black clothing, grim-reaper the thief, we still loath him.
another weekend
another sad-a-day
another funeral.
And his life was a summary,
too brief a breath, as the contraction is.
No sympathy to bother saying
"I am".
Public or private hospitals, dark clouds gather above all.

Twenty-twelve was a scar,
for four years now we are still scooping our scabs, from the bottomless pits,
that fell from ever-fresh wounds picked at a tad too prematurely,
so very early.
Some of the things we will take to our graves
will take us to our graves, as we exhume our pre-mourning selves.
And hurt still drops in drips,
red-bottomed-sticky feet from the blood-washed tiles,
the pain and the paint in permanent.
Some matters you can only think about
when you are half-awake and half-asleep, because these nightmares
are too real to be dreams.

uThixo Ovayo unoNobantu, nabantu bakhe bonke ngamaxesha onke.

~ by New-Black-SoUl #NBS

"I hope to go just like my father did...
the final falling into aleep.
There is no need to carry on and weep."

She chases red-haired children 'round the floor...
awake, responsive, dreaming...
O2 low.
She falls into the air, a bruise to show-
swears she will not do that anymore.

She's addicted to the pump that gives her breath-
totally aware of her impending death...
(does she know I would take it if I could?)

Her lonely days in springtime haze,
window-watching birds...
in black and red, the records kept
of her final words.

A daughter, corporation-owned,
fear from far away...
one reduced to part-time job,
surviving day to day.

My sister/crutch, to whom I clutch
as I limp through the mess...
my lover and an angel
who guide me through the stress...

"You'll wake one morning to find me dead",
words to me, tonight, she said...

I wake all night and hit the light
to watch her chest rise and fall.

(Does she know I would take it if I could..?)

Leather boots perched on a rail,
and not a speck of dust is showing.
A cigarette between the lips,
but there's no ember glowing.
A redhawk circles overhead,
but all I hear is chickens crowing...
All was then and all is lost. You're clinging to the final showing...

Number One and number Two were banished into cyberspace.
And further down the line the one who envied to usurp the space.

I was sitting on the Mighty Mountain. I watched the Wishanabes go
marching through the lowly valley,
following row by row.
But that was then and this is now.
It doesn't matter anyhow;
your fleeting sense of stolen fame.
You have lost your "toughest game".

Digging bones and brushing dirt,
abandoned in your lonely hurt...
a forgotten name, forgotten face
lost within cyberspace.


22022022 © Winnie Carolina

Oh dear, my love it looks like you've stumbled across my work
My words, my thoughts all about you.
Some are kind and some are full of pain.
I know you wont like some of them or even all
But there about you
And how I slowly learned how to heal
Healed from how you made me feel so fulfilled
But then eventually how I felt so used.
So then my love, I'm sorry.
I'm sorry for sharing my words, my emotions, my truth

It’s 2am and I’m wide awake,
I can’t stop thinking about what you said
Our past memories keep overwhelming me,
I ask myself: why didn’t I realise how much you meant to me?

Tears start rolling down my cheek,
I feel so guilty, so small and weak  
“Why couldn’t I just accept your love and stay?”,
This question has been haunting me everyday

I scroll through our past messages tentatively,
Realising how you had waited for me so patiently
Even after numerous night falls,
Why didn’t I ever give you a call?

I realised that maybe I was too selfish,
You were just right there- why didn’t I cherish?
“I will be here for you” was what you said,
Why didn’t I ever say this to you instead?

A crushing sensation pierces through my heart,
It seems as if my entire world is falling apart
“I deserve this, you went through this too”,
I will willingly suffer pain and sorrow just for you

It is selfish for me to say that I want you back,
I have always loved you- it just took time for me to realise that
It’s too late, you seem to have already moved on;
What else can I do, but to pretend to put on a strong front?

It’s too late, maybe your heart is somewhere else
You didn’t wish me on my birthday- I can infer from it by myself
We both made mistakes, but you tried to make up for it;
I did too, but maybe, I was the cause of our second split

You’ll never read this, but I want you to know,
I have always had feelings for you- it just didn’t show
I have always been terrible at texting and directly expressing my feelings;
My ‘pococurante’ over messages might have been what was misleading

There are so many things that I want to tell you,
One of it is that it takes a lot not to call you
If me contacting you brings you pain in any way,
Even if it means suffering on my own- I won’t do so; I’ll act like everything is okay

You are the kindest, most selfless and sweetest guy I know,  
Don’t let my mistakes affect you and become your shadow
You bring a ray of light and comfort to the people around you,
I hope one day, you’ll find someone who is like this too

“We’ll see what happens four years down the road” was what you said,
Four years have passed- what have we become instead?
From being friends, to lovers, to friends, back to being strangers;
Will this cycle repeat? Or is it too late for us

Every time I walk past you or see you from afar,
My heart beats crazily fast, it just adds on to my scars
It’s too late for me to apologise and reconcile, isn’t it,
My finger hovers above the ‘send’ button… should I click?

28/11/21
2am

We exist to have one speck of stardust in a universe which we call our own

Merely one tiny point in a cosmos that can't care even if compelled or forced.

no heaven.
no hell.

We are here by fate unknown to us ******.

We may be here by our sins or by the fate of our dice.

We are not even the end result so desired,

We see ourselves too highly.

We try so hard to make our little speck brighter

We hurt ourselves trying to brighten our piece.

Yet, in these infinite cosmos,
We, our specks, mean nothing.

Still, we struggle, why?

We are without a doubt the most important specks in the cosmos
Every one of those little specks,
no matter how bright
no matter how small,

Without them all, we would have nothing

The ones that shine brighter and attract others to rightful causes
Cause entropy to reverse and for disorder to become order.

As Joni Mitchell once said,
"We are stardust, we are golden, we are all the same,"

When we are not together,
we skip lonely through the void,
awaiting what we know we will never find.

Apart, we are merely dust, drifting silently searching for love.

When we give up that hopeless dream,
then finally, by becoming one,

We can create stars.

You made me soft;
A Marshmallow drop that melted sweetness,
and tasted like nostalgia on your tongue
In that place where camps fires smoked and we smouldered,
Orange with a glow
that crackled envy,
I saw forever in those flames.
Just a little tiny taste of eternity
Reaching for me, as I reached for you.
I curled and crisped,
Dribbled into that abyss
and bubbled up in the heat.

i spend my days
pouring myself into the cups of others

only to find that
when it’s time for myself
to take a sip

all that’s left
in my cup
is the remainder of a girl
who gave too much